


The Goddess Delusion

by LizBee



Series: Ashes of Gallifrey [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/pseuds/LizBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romana is alive. In a way, that's the beginning of the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Goddess Delusion

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written in 2007, as part of a group project that was meant to be completed before season four aired. As you can see, that ... didn't quite work out. It has been quite comprehensively jossed, but if you're in the mood for some AU shenanigans, this is your lucky day. Or, you know, not. Thanks to the betas, Branwyn, Prof Pangaea and Vali.

"He's coming."

The north wind picked up as the second sun set, carrying the ever-present dust that coated the city with a fine layer of grime. Down on the streets, people wrapped veils around their faces or, if they could afford the technology, activated small personal shields. A few stallholders in the markets closed early, eager to be inside. Outside the city, the grounded space vessels turned red with the dust, and their captains wondered, as usual, if it was worth coming to Vide for repairs, when their ships ended up half-buried in the planet's dirt.

The goddess of the planet Vide walked the halls of her holy prison and listened to the wind outside and the voices within. When, late in the evening, her strength failed, she leaned against a certain false door and let the dying whispers of her vessel sooth her.

"He's coming," she repeated.

In the far corner of the room sat an old man, examining a book and making the occasional note. He looked up as she spoke.

"I can hear it," the Lady said, her fingers spread out against her ship's frame. "We're calling him." Her smile made her appear much younger. "The Doctor is on his way."

*

The Doctor emerged from the TARDIS into a seething crowd. His first thought was approving -- lots of people, lots of species, all going about their business, airships flying overhead and spaceships coming in to land, all under the bright light of two suns.

His second thought was that this wasn't where he was meant to be.

"Excuse me," he called, "but could you tell me what planet this is?"

A tall, paunchy man was passing him, followed by a trio of Ood. The man gave him a disbelieving stare and spat, "Vide" before walking quickly on, glancing back just once to make sure the madman wasn't following.

Vide. Right, Vide. Not originally a human colony, but these humans, they liked to move in and make it their own. Judging by the ships flying overhead, he'd landed right in the middle of the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire, which meant this was an old, old colony now. Far away from Earth, too. Vide. Cheap glass ornament of the Human Empire. Spacedock overhead, planet-side repair facilities, busy markets and just about every type of crime imaginable taking place under the suns. And he had a good imagination, too.

But none of this explained why he was here, when he'd given the TARDIS very specific co-ordinates for a completely different planet. She certainly thought she'd landed on a different planet. She'd always had a mind of her own; he just hoped she wasn't getting senile.

At least, he consoled himself, there was no need to pretend this was an intentional detour. No human women exchanging amused glances behind his back, making jokes at his expense and completely failing to believe any little fibs about a sudden urge to see a double sunset. And he enjoyed his own company anyway, he was perfectly fine on his own. Really.

A passing woman gave him an odd look, and he realised he'd said that last bit out loud.

"And I'm not going crazy, either," he added.

He gave up, and settled instead for exploring. Temporary stalls outnumbered the permanent buildings, giving the streets a pleasant aura of chaos that not even the presence of a Judoon squad outside a bank could mar. The air was rich with the smell of burning meats and unfamiliar vegetables, but the Doctor was more interested in the acrid odour of burning wires. He followed the scent to its source, a slightly ragged tent manned by a skinny girl with spiky green hair and a pugnacious expression on her face.

"What are you selling?" he asked.

"This and that," she said. Up close, he saw she wasn't completely human: there were faint scales on her cheeks, flashing as they caught the sun. "My dad salvages it," she waved her hand vaguely upwards, "from the asteroid belt. Lots of ships go aground up there. Dad rescues them and takes the salvage in payment. And I sell the tech."

"Capitalism in action," said the Doctor absently, turning over a multi-dimensional navigational computer. The whole thing fit neatly into the palm of his hand, and it wouldn't be too hard to patch it into the TARDIS -- well, hard was a relative sort of term, but it wouldn't take more than a day, or two, and maybe then he'd stop landing on the wrong planets. "How much?" he asked.

She looked him up and down, estimating his probable wealth. "Ten centims," she said.

"Five."

"Seven."

"Six. And a half."

Her scales flashed. "Deal."

"I don't carry cash." And no longer travelled with people who did. Damn.

"That's too bad." She smirked, but didn't snatch the navcomp back. "I'm not a charity. And I don't offer credit."

"I never pay by credit," he told her seriously. "Do you know what kind of damage it does, trying to pay a bill before it exists? The paperwork's a nightmare. Can I barter?"

"What've you got to offer?" she said uncertainly.

The Doctor brandished the sonic screwdriver. "Repairs. Anything in there that's broken, I can fix."

She raised her eyebrows. "Anything?"

"Nearly anything."

"Right." She vanished beneath the counter, and he heard her rummaging through the storage containers at her feet. "Here," she said, standing up again and dumping a small holographic projector in front of him. "Fix this, and the computer's yours."

It only took a moment, and she never once took her eyes off the sonic screwdriver. Her hands curled protectively around the projector when he pushed it towards her, but her eyes were on the screwdriver as he returned it to his coat pocket.

"I'd trade half the stall for that," she said.

"No deal," he said.

"Fair enough." She gave him a crooked grin. "Worth a shot, though."

He was turning away when she said suddenly, "My name's Loryn." He turned back. She had come out from behind the stall and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, playing with the little silver pendant around her neck. "I could show you around, later. Give you the proper tour and all. I know the whole city."

For a second, he was tempted. She reminded him of so many people, so many girls just like her -- and he could give her a whole different tour, he could give her a universe---

He thought of her father, with his pathetic little rescue/salvage business, sending his daughter out to sell junk. He could tell by her cheap clothes that it wasn't a great life, but he was no longer in the business of rescuing lost souls.

"No thanks," he said, softening it with a smile. "I'm happiest on my own."

"Right," she said, crestfallen. "Well ... seeya."

He walked away without answering.

*

It was easy to lose himself in the streets, to push through the crowds and forget that he wasn't really part of all this. Traders argued over prices, a woman and her android servitor threatened a stall-owner with legal action, a man stood on a box and preached the post-Terran gospel to a small audience. A woman with blue skin gave him a sample of her space-grown fruit, but it tasted like a pear, so he passed it on to a skinny boy in patched clothes.

Occasionally -- but not as often as he'd have expected -- he'd catch a glimpse of something that reminded him of someone else. A bolt of dark purple fabric that would look like night itself against bright red hair. A decent forgery of an ancient goblet, the perfect gift for the cat burglar who had everything. He pictured himself as a kind of time-travelling Father Christmas, or the globe-trotting relative whose primary purpose was to dispense exotic gifts and tell tedious anecdotes about bad food and late trains. It was probably good for his ego, that perception, keeping him in check or something. He hoped they were happy, in their new-old lives. He could never bring himself to go back and find out. Sometimes, in a crowd like this, surrounded by people, it was almost easier to pretend.... He'd catch glimpses out of the corner of his eye, red hair or a sparkly suit, someone was sure to be getting herself into trouble somewhere, unless he was about to walk into a mess that they'd have to get him out of---

But then he turned, and the woman he'd thought was Donna was a stout mother of six screaming brats, and the girl he'd thought was Zoe had simply never been there at all---

Only, there was a woman staring at him, and it was like an electric shock when he met her eyes, because he did know her, he'd once known every particle of her, and she was long dead---

For a second, he thought the planet had stopped moving.

She tilted her head -- follow me, her smile said -- and vanished into the crowd.

Follow her? Try and stop him.

It was a mistake, of course -- he caught a glimpse of dark-blonde hair beneath a scarf before someone stepped in his way -- or worse, a trap, or maybe he was just going crazy. More crazy. But he had to know. Curiosity was fatal to felines, but he had more than nine lives -- well, he had a few left, anyway.

The wind was picking up, and somehow the mood of the streets had changed. There were more nervous sideways glances, parents calling children to their sides. Had there been this many guards around earlier? All armed, all wearing the same stylised tower insignia on their collars and shoulders. All watching. Looking for something. Someone.

The Doctor pushed onwards.

She led him away from the main streets, into a narrow alleyway that smelt of rotting fruit. They were the only people in sight, and she finally turned back to face him again, letting the scarf fall from her head and pool over her shoulders, so he could at last see her face again.

"Well," she said, and it made him dizzy, hearing her voice again, "it's about time." Her hair was messy. He reached out and took her hand. Familiar skin (home, whispered a part of his mind) and the flicker of a double-pulse beneath.

"Romana," he said, tasting her name, hopelessly aware that this couldn't be happening, was utterly impossible, yet there she was, standing in front of him large as life, well, maybe a little smaller; she was taller in his memories, or maybe he was confused. He was so old.

And she was watching him with compassionate eyes, drinking him in, and it couldn't possibly be an hallucination, because he'd forgotten — forced himself to forget — the way the edge of her mouth turned downward when she was sad, and the way her hands twisted around each other when she was nervous.

"I thought you were dead," he said woodenly.

"Almost." She swayed suddenly, and he caught her. She was alive and real and any minute now, he thought, something was bound to go horribly wrong.

"I've been waiting for you," she said. "Well, for anyone, but I hoped it would be you." She was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes.

"You brought me here?" He was too slow, he wasn't ready for this conversation. He was full of words, self-recriminations and confessions and declarations, and all he could do was gape at her.

"My TARDIS. It's dying, but -- well, you're here. I couldn't ... I can't--" She touched her temple, "I can't maintain a telepathic link for long, not with another person."

"That must be lonely," he managed to say.

"No. Not really." Her gaze grew distant. "I've made a terrible mistake," she said. "I'm sorry. He's doing — awful things, and I don't think he'll let me go."

There was a shout in the distance, and the sound of approaching footsteps.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "You're too late. It might have been better if I'd never — well, at least I got to say goodbye."

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, and he said, "Romana--"

But there was no chance to speak: uniformed men were running up the alley, and though the Doctor's grip tightened on Romana's hands, they were pulled roughly apart. His arms were pinned behind him, and he could do nothing but watch as she was taken away, looking back over her shoulder to meet his eyes one more time--

"Romana!"

She was straining to reach him, but one of the guards -- with a tenderness at odds with his actions -- pressed a sedative patch to her neck. She was unconscious in moments, and gone.

"You," he struggled to turn around to face his captor, "are really going to regret this."

The young man opened his mouth to speak, just enough distraction for the Doctor to escape his grip and use a half-remembered trick to render the guard unconscious. One man left; the Doctor feinted, pushed him aside and ran. Ran until he was out in the main streets and lost again in the crowd. His hearts were racing, but it was fury, not fear, that energised him.

"They're all going to regret this," he said.

*

Loryn watched the groundcar speed through the streets towards the tower. Another one, she thought, throwing an automatic flirtatious smile at a remaining guard. He ignored her, his eyes blank and dead. She shivered and reached for a comm-link. Whatever was happening, her sister would know all about it.

Her fingers brushed against the holo-projector in her pocket, and for a second she thought of the newcomer, with his fancy tech and quick talk. She hoped -- but that was stupid, the temple guards paid no attention to transients and non-believers, but still--

She hoped he was okay.

*

It was as if nothing had happened.

People went about their business as if armed men routinely snatched women off the streets. Maybe they did, but still--

"Did you see that?" the Doctor demanded of a stall-holder.

"See what?"

Careful indifference. Fear. Fear of what? He had no respect for the sort of terror that induced paralysis when abductions took place in broad daylight. The guards were dissipating now, but as the final squad climbed into their vehicle, he caught a glimpse of their insignia, a stylised version of the tower that loomed over the city.

The groundcar was moving, and he was running to follow it -- keeping back, avoiding their notice, but never letting it out of their sight. He ran without heed for the people around him, pushing him out of his way when they moved too slowly. He was gambling that they would return to the same place their colleagues had taken Romana. He shoved the thought out of his head and kept running.

Up a street, down a flight of stairs, past Loryn's stall -- he caught a glimpse of her green hair and startled face -- around a corner -- they were heading for the tower, the vast structure that overlooked the city, and it was old, he realised now, maybe it dated back to the first humans on this planet--

Strong arms reached out and pulled him aside, throwing him against a wall.

"Easy," a voice warned, "we don't want him hurt."

"Idiot." This was a woman's voice, addressing the Doctor directly. "What did you think you were doing, eh? Draw attention to us." She shook him. "Get us all killed."

"Let him go, Neris," said the first voice (male, older, accustomed to authority). "He can't help us at all if you've dashed his brains out."

He was abruptly released, and he reeled around to see the faces of these new captors. A woman raw with energy and bitter intelligence, and a man with a worn, resigned look in his eye and hair that was peppered with grey.

"Who are you?" the woman -- Neris -- demanded. "We saw you with the Lady--" there was no mistaking that capital -- "and chasing down the guards -- it's like you want to be taken."

"'Taken'? Who are they? What do they want with--"

"Who are they?" Neris made no effort to hide her contempt. "A perversion. A monstrosity."

"What Neris means," the other one said, "is that the guards represent the Temple -- the most powerful religion on Vide, keepers of our history, and your lords and masters if you intend to spend any time on this world." He held out his hand. "I'm Markus," he said. "You'd best come with us."

*

Neris and Markus led him through a series of narrow alleyways where the shadows were deep and the overhead cameras were smashed. They passed drug dens and dimly lit cellars from which loud music emanated, along with the scent of flesh and intoxicants. Finally, they reached their destination, a run-down old house built out of pre-fabricated materials. A secret knock would have been appropriate to the setting, but Markus merely pressed his thumb against a cracked print-reader and opened the door.

"Home," he said briefly.

"Where the heart is," Neris added, "allegedly. Drink?"

"Please," the Doctor said. As the lights came on, he found he was in a small room chiefly decorated with books, squashy couches and hand-held computers. The kitchen consisted mostly of a microwave, a fridge and a cupboard. There was a bowl of fruit on the counter. He helped himself to a banana.

"Now," he said, peeling it, "the Temple."

"The Temple," Markus agreed. He sat down, regarding the Doctor with quiet eyes. "We had hoped you might be able to tell us something, but you're clearly a newcomer."

"Or a lunatic," Neris said, handing him a drink that smelled like a weak home-brew.

"You wouldn't be the first to say so," the Doctor said. "They took my friend," he said. "She was afraid. And--" he closed his eyes briefly, to ward against memories -- "she didn't scare easily. Not since the War began."

"Your 'friend', as you call her," said Markus, "is something of a legend around this parts."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"Not just a legend." The Doctor turned, and there was Loryn, standing in the doorway, still fingering her pendant. "A goddess."

*

Gareth Ibbots, High Cardinal, Chief Historian and High Scientist, watched as the guards carried Romana into the central laboratory.

"Lay her out," he ordered, and the guards obeyed. She lay prone on the metal bench in the centre of the room, hair fanned out around her head, hands by her sides. Almost unwillingly, he reached out to touch her cheek. Her skin was cool, alien, but it was just skin. "You might as well open your eyes, my lady," he said. "I know you're awake."

She obeyed, but there was rebellion in her face.

"I was very worried about you." And he meant it, too, he hoped she'd appreciate that. They had been a marvellous team, once. His fingers trailed lightly over her eyelashes. She didn't flinch. He admired her self-control. "You put yourself in very great danger, going out alone."

Romana said nothing.

"You put us all in danger," he snapped. "Our work here is at a very critical stage--"

"Have you killed anyone this week?"

"Cling to your self-righteousness if you want," Ibbots told her, reaching for his instruments. "If it makes you happy. I don't need you anymore — except as a subject, perhaps. If you continue to undermine us," he selected a paralytic and injected it into her arm, "I'll remove your hearts and display them to the congregation. See if they'll worship you then." Now there was fear in her eyes. It was terribly satisfying. He reached for the interface points and attached them to her skull. "Let's begin," he said.

He had to suppress a thrill of envy as she succumbed to the machine. What was merely painful for her would be fatal to him, and yet, one day, he hoped he would be able to experience the knowledge it held, the history, the power...

She didn't scream. He always admired her for that.

*

"You'll have to forgive Loryn," said Neris. "She's something of a true believer."

"So were you, when we were young," Loryn snapped. "She's my big sister," she added to the Doctor. "So I guess I'll have to put up with her." She sat down beside him. "I knew you were different," she said, crossing her legs. "You don't even smell human--"

"And you'd know, little half-breed," said Neris, although her tone was more affectionate than cruel.

"And neither does the Lady." She unhooked her necklace and handed it to him. "The tower," she said, and now that he could see it properly, the Doctor recognised the same stylised form as the guards' insignia. "Dad sent us to the Temple school when we were kids. It was different, then. Different leaders. I even met the Lady, once — a living goddess, or the manifestation of one. She smiled at me." She shrugged, but there was yearning in her eyes. "I don't go near the Temple. But I remember what it used to be."

"You have a very simplistic idea of history," said Markus. "They used to execute heretics, you know."

"Now they make people disappear," said Neris. "I know which I'd prefer."

"Neither?" the Doctor asked. Neris gave him a twisted smile that was an older, more cynical version of her sister's.

"It started two years ago," said Markus. "When the new High Cardinal was appointed. Just a few people disappearing, nothing serious. No one you'd notice. Now several people vanish every month, and even the Temple guards are afraid."

"A busy trading centre like this, people must vanish all the time," said the Doctor.

"The old men and women who lived here all their lives?" Markus said. "Unlikely."

"We found a grave," said Neris, "outside the city. Eighty-three people. We knew them all."

"The Temple priests said it was the will of the goddess," Loryn added, "and refused to hold the funerary rights. But the Lady is a prisoner now, and the priests are liars."

"Bit cheeky," said the Doctor, "holding a goddess captive and all."

"She's a mortal incarnation," said Markus.

"She's the true goddess," snapped Loryn, "weakened by war and the treachery of unfaithful priests, and old men like you who choose the easiest path of belief."

Neris laughed. "She's an alien," she said, "an ancient, powerful alien who finds us convenient."

"I hate theology," said the Doctor. "It always gets so personal." He put his drink down and stood up. "Thanks for the hospitality, and the history lesson and all. I'm off to the Temple."

Loryn jumped to her feet. "I'm coming with you," she said.

"Like hell," her sister snapped. Turning to the Doctor, Neris added, "I'll go with you. But she's staying here."

Loryn opened her mouth to argue, but Markus said, "Neris is right. You're too young for this. You stay with me." He turned to the Doctor. "I don't doubt your loyalty to your friend, but what you're doing is dangerous. I'll have no part of it." A smile tugged at his lips. "And if you get Neris killed, I'll turn you over to the Temple myself."

Neris chuckled. "Come on," she said, ignoring her sister, curled into a sulky ball on the couch, "we found an old underground access way about six months ago. Straight into the tower. I've been dying to try it out." She paused to unlock a chest, pulling out a neat little plasma weapon that she tucked into an inner pocket of her coat, giving him a look that dared him to comment.

The Doctor said nothing.

"Good luck," said Loryn.

The Doctor gave her a small, careless salute and threw the door open.

"Allons-y," he said, stepping aside to let Neris pass, and following her out into the street. Darkness had fallen while he was inside, and the wind had picked up. He pulled his coat around himself.

"This way," Neris said, and he let her take the lead.

*

Night had fallen by the time Romana was returned to her rooms. She was still unconscious, carried by the senior lab assistant, Hala, and left on a low couch. Hala left quickly, without making eye-contact with Williem. He hoped that was a sign of a guilty conscience.

A little trickle of blood flowed from Romana's nose, and her hearts were sluggish. Not for the first time, Williem gave serious consideration to assassinating Ibbots. He had never killed, but the thought of Ibbots dying at his hand was curiously satisfying. Strange, that the thoughts of a scholar could so easily turn to violence. He had given his life to the Lady, and regretted nothing but that the High Cardinal continued to draw breath.

Romana had forbidden assassination, but if this happened again -- or if she didn't recover quickly -- or if she died -- he thought he might find it in himself to disobey his Lady's orders.

She was small and slim, but he was an old man, and it was an effort to lift her, let alone carry her into her vessel. Faith, he told her once, when she asked, gave him strength. She'd laughed. He chuckled at the memory as he lay her out on the floor of the ship, and as if in response, she stirred.

Even with the ship to heal her, she took longer to recover after each experiment. Williem used the time to examine her vessel, a dimly lit mess of shattered screens and tangled cables. There were spaces where parts had been removed. One of Romana's projects? He doubted it. Ibbots had always coveted the ship, and now, with Romana so weak and the ship's own defenses failing, there was little to keep him out.

As if in response to his thoughts, the last lights flickered and went out. Williem rested his hand flat on the cracked console, and felt the distant pulse of an alien engine. It was fainter than he remembered.

Behind him, Romana stirred.

"Oh," she said, her voice slurred, "I can't feel my legs." She paused to draw a deep breath. "Or my face, come to that."

"I can assure you, you're quite intact."

"Physically, maybe." He couldn't see her in the darkness, but he thought she was trying to smile. "Williem," she said, and now there was no trace of humour in her voice, "I think I've failed."

"Romana--"

"I couldn't keep him out." She drew a deep breath that sounded like a sob. "So he knows about the Doctor And it's so crowded. I can't hear myself think."

Williem took her hand and helped her sit up.

"Does Ibbots know about the crown?" he asked.

She looked blank for a moment, then said, "No. I don't think so."

"You're stronger than you realised, then."

"Not for much longer." She gathered her skirts. "Help me up, Williem, there's so much work to be done."

*

"He calls himself the Doctor," Ibbots said, "and he has been summoned to Vide to undermine our holy work. He has already evaded arrest once, and now he's taken up with that little group of heretics from the South Quarter." He replayed the footage from the security cameras, the Doctor being waylaid by the woman Neris and taken away. The guard captain showed no reaction, but if Ibbots had done his work properly -- and he was always meticulous -- the image was permanently imprinted on the man's memory. "We've tolerated these people long enough," he said. "Have them brought to the Temple. And find the Doctor. And his vessel."

The captain saluted and obeyed.

Alone, Ibbots permitted himself a moment of pleasure as he surveyed his laboratory and his works. Even a few decades ago, he himself might have been denounced as a heretic, but times changed, and the planetary government acknowledged the value of his work. He would bring such stability to Vide, all the knowledge of the faithful preserved for all time, so that history would become one continuous stream, not a single moment lost. That was, he thought, what the Lady feared most of all, that her power might fall into the hands of her mortal followers. Oh, she had offered her assistance once, but when she saw how powerful he could become, she became squeamish. Selfish. He prayed, as he always did, that the true goddess -- not the fallible woman of flesh in the upper apartments -- would recognise and honour his efforts.

Thinking of Romana, he ran a finger over the smooth alien surface of the machines he'd had removed from her craft. Soon, he hoped, he would have the Doctor's ship as well, a new source of energy and equipment for his great work.

As soon as the interloper was captured and the heretics silenced and the false goddess revealed for what she was.

Ibbots closed his eyes and prayed that the moment would come quickly.

*

"You don't believe him, do you?" Loryn asked.

"I believe," Markus hesitated, "I think he's speaking the truth, as he understands it."

"So you think he's crazy."

Markus nodded, but before he could answer, the door exploded inward.

Loryn threw herself to the ground, reaching into her jacket for the battered old stunner she'd swiped from a salvage delivery months ago. Temple guards, by the Lady, and then she couldn't think, because a plasma beam shot over her head, and Markus collapsed before her, clutching his chest.

She leapt to her feet, holo-projector in one hand, stunner in the other.

"He's an old man," she was shrieking, "he has a weak heart!"

Her stunner didn't even damage their armour. The counter, she thought, if she could get over that and put a barrier between herself and the soldiers--

She chose her moment and ran, but a wave of pain hit her leg as she jumped -- plasma fire -- and she lost her balance and fell at the feet of the guard captain.

He looked down at her without interest.

"The Doctor," he said, "where is he?"

"Medical centre's two blocks west. Plenty of doctors there."

The captain's eyes were dead. For a moment, the only sound was Markus's laboured breathing.

"You will come to the Temple," the guard said.

"Like hell!"

Loryn tried to stand, but her injured leg gave way beneath her. The guard picked her up, so she scratched and bit and screamed until they slapped a sedative patch on her arm, and then the world went black.

*

"She must mean a lot to you, your friend."

The Doctor concentrated on not slipping in a patch of mould.

"These tunnels," he said, "how old are they?"

"Ancient," said Neris. "They were the streets of the original city."

"Bit narrow, don't you think?"

"They weren't designed for humans." She stepped over a cracked paving stone. "What kind of man claims to be friends with the goddess of Vide?" Her tone was faintly accusing. "'The Doctor'.

He gave her a little wave. "That's me."

Neris turned back to look at him, her face unreadable. Then she walked on, speaking in a low voice.

"It's the only religion native to this planet, you know -- that's what they claim, anyway. I used to be proud of that. As if Vide were something special. Or rather, as if I were special, and the Lady, because we were both grown here in the desert.

"But it's all lies. Vide wasn't an empty planet when we colonised it, and the Lady is some kind of alien. And I'm a hard worker and a good shot, but I'm not special." There was no bitterness in her tone, just amused resignation. "I don't see the point, really."

"If that's the case," said the Doctor, "then why are you here?"

Neris was quiet for a moment.

"I don't like to see power being abused," she said at last. "And you didn't answer my first question. About your friend."

"Misdirection's not what it used to be."

Neris said nothing, and somehow, the Doctor found words rising to his lips and spilling forth.

"She was my best friend."

Silence, except for the drip of water.

"We came from the same world, but I learnt not to hold that against her. We travelled together. Fought a war. I thought she was dead. Didn't even dare to hope ... I thought I was alone. I thought it was better that way."

"Hope." Neris snorted. "My sister lives on it."

They came to a sudden stop, and she reached up to push at a door set into the ceiling. Flakes of rust floated down, but the door didn't move.

"Locked," she said in disgust, reaching for her blaster.

"Locks," said the Doctor, pushing her aside and pulling the sonic screwdriver from his pocket, "happen to be one of my specialties."

"No wonder Loryn likes you. Tight suit and gadgets."

The Doctor chose to ignore this. The door opened, Neris stepped back.

"You reckon you're the same species as a goddess," she said, "in my book, that means you go first." Her grin was very much like her sister's. "If you get shot, you can be resurrected."

All in all, the Doctor couldn't see much point in arguing.

*

"Is that all?"

Ibbots looked down at the single prisoner, a half-human girl barely out of her teens.

"The house was otherwise empty," said the guard captain. "There was an old man, but he went into cardiac arrest when my lieutenant shot him. We left him there."

"The others must be on the move." Ibbots attached the interface points to the girl's temples and ripped the sedative patch from her arm. She gave a little sigh. He signalled to the assisting novice to begin the preliminary brain scans. "Detach a squad to guard the temple," he ordered the captain. "And keep searching the city. What about the vessel?"

"A team is bringing it in now."

"Good. You're dismissed." He barely heard the man leave; his attention was on the scans that Hala was running. This half-human brain would be an interesting experiment. He almost wished Romana was here to share it.

*

"Now hold this in place," Romana said, guiding Williem's fingers. "Where did I put the molecular welder?" She blinked vaguely, surveying the worktable, humming quietly to herself.

Williem waited until he could stand it no longer, then said, "By your hand."

"Oh. Damn." Her hands were shaking as she picked it up. "Could you...?"

He accepted the welder and she held the pieces in place. She didn't move, even after he had finished, and she started when he touched her arm.

"Sorry." Her voice was a rasp. "I can't..." She gestured towards her temple, and gave him a weak smile. "Sorry. Where were we?"

"The next move is yours."

"Yes. Of course." She picked up her device and held it up to the light. "A power source, I think," she said. "An Artron filter. Help me into to the TARDIS."

He hoped they wouldn't have to go far -- they had ventured deep into the ship, foraging for the equipment for this, and he doubted Romana had the strength for a long walk. But she found what she needed in the central room, ripping the console itself open. The ship seemed to shudder at the violation, and Romana reeled for a moment, turning pale. Williem thought she might collapse all together, but then she rallied and pulled herself straight. "Not much longer now," she said, but there was little hope in her voice.

Williem took her arm and led her out again. She let him take her weight as they walked, and somehow, that terrified him above anything else. She sank into her chair, and, keeping one hand on his arm, instructed him on the installation of the filter. The device was near completion, taking shape as a complex metal headpiece. Like a crown, he'd suggested when she first began, and she had smiled.

They were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door, and Novice Hala, Ibbots's lab assistant, entered uninvited.

"Ibbots has a new vessel," she said. "He believes it's like yours. And he has a prisoner."

Romana was on her feet. "The Doctor," she said.

"No, a girl. But she knows him. And she's strong, very strong under the machine. He's learning a great deal."

"Oh no."

The novice stepped forward. "You must help us," she begged.

"She's much too weak," Williem snapped. "Thanks to your work, I might add. She'll be killed."

"I'm dying anyway, one way or another," Romana said quietly. She picked up her device.

"You haven't even tested it," said Williem.

Romana smiled sadly. "I'm running out of time," she said.

*

Loryn thought she was dreaming. She hoped she was dreaming, because if this was reality, it was too much to comprehend: so many voices crying out, machines penetrating her mind, stripping it bare. Every piece of her, pulled out and exposed. She tried to fight, but it was inexorable, and the screaming around her was so loud. So many people before her, all dead now, buried in the desert, their secrets hidden in the sand--

Part of her, the last remaining part of her mind capable of rational thought, realised that the screaming wasn't just in her head, but coming from her own throat.

But there was nothing she could do about it.

*

The tunnel opened into the temple's cellars, vast chambers that were, the Doctor thought, about as old as the ancient underground streets. Words and shapes were carved into the thick stone walls.

"Give me your torch," he said to Neris, and he shone the light on the carvings.

"I think," said Neris, "that this is where the colonists sheltered, after the terraforming failed. Having wiped out the native species, I suppose it was as good a place as any." She traced the carvings with her hand. "I never thought I'd see this place. It's forbidden to the average believer." Her cynicism could not quite conceal the awe in her voice. "This is where the goddess first manifested, you see. Or rather, when the settlers made first contact with an alien woman whom their descendants decided to deify."

"As you do," said the Doctor, but his attention was on one particular carving. He could picture the first generations of Vide, separated from Earth as so many early colonies were, hiding away from the inhospitable climate in the site of their genocide. Dealing with all that hereditary guilt and desperation, and along came a Time Lord. Setting things right and giving them a new direction, and why wouldn't you start a religion in her honour? People had been deified for less, not that he'd ever ... well.

He settled for tracing the familiar lines of Romana's face, carved into the stone with surprising accuracy, and hoping -- he didn't even put it into words. Words were dangerous. He just hoped.

"Come on," he said to Neris.

They made their way through to the higher levels, where the building was newer and less tainted with ancient sins.

"So," said the Doctor, "where would they keep an ailing goddess?"

"No idea. The question didn't exactly come up in scripture classes."

"Up," he decided. "It's a bit claustrophobic down here."

They kept moving. Neris, evidently feeling that he couldn't be trusted not to get them captured, took the lead, blaster in her hand. Made it hard to pretend they were lost tourists, but since the only people they saw were either clerics -- robed and veiled -- or guards, who were becoming increasingly common by the minute, it didn't seem likely that they'd even get the chance to dissemble. They kept to empty corridors and spent a lot of time hiding behind ornate door-frames and pillars.

Then they heard the screams. Distant but unmistakable, and Neris froze.

"That's my sister," she said.

"Neris--"

"That's my sister!" She took off at a run, and the Doctor followed. Someone behind them shouted, alerting the guards, and stopping was no longer an option. And they were going deeper into the tower, being driven inexorably and willingly towards a trap.

*

Ibbots was expecting them.

He watched the security footage with interest, and smiled as their footsteps became audible. He gave orders for the guards to leave — the woman Neris was volatile, and he had no desire to provoke violence, not in his laboratory — but he ensured he had sedative patches close to hand, and paralytics, and bindings.

*

And then they arrived.

Neris skidded to a halt in the centre of the laboratory, unaware of anything but her sister. The Doctor, on the other hand, took everything in with a glance: a vast, white chamber, hexagonal, surgical tables projecting inwards from each wall, with a seventh table in the centre of the room. And beside it was the familiar old police box, his own TARDIS.

The Doctor absorbed all of this in a moment, along with Loryn's incoherent screams, the surprised look of the attendants and the way Neris's hands shook as she pointed her weapon at the old man in the centre of the room and shouted, "She's my little sister! Let her go!"

"You," said the man, in a tone of mild curiosity, "must be Neris. I am High Cardinal Ibbots. Your sister thinks very highly of you."

"What are you doing to her?"

Ibbots smiled. "Creating a new world. A great project in honour of the Lady."

"Speak sense," Neris hissed.

The Doctor had been wandering around, examining machines and switches and read-outs. Now he looked up.

"He's creating an interactive archive out of all the knowledge and memories of his victims. Isn't that right?" He nodded at Ibbots. "This is just a primitive first-generation effort, but you're an ambitious man. Visions for the future and all that. I mean, the power that comes when history's kept alive like that, when you can speak to the dead — that's incredible. If it's old and sophisticated enough, it could even be used to predict the future. It's brilliant."

"You seem to know a great deal about it," said Ibbots. Behind him, Loryn had stopped screaming.

"I know it doesn't work."

"Oh?"

"All those deaths. Bodies in the desert. The elderly, the people who remember your history." The Doctor's voice was soft. He was, he realised with a kind of detached insight, very angry. If Ibbots had any sense, he'd be on his knees, apologising, but self-preservation was no match against ego. The Doctor didn't mind. He wasn't yet sure what he'd do, but he'd put this right somehow, whatever the cost. "Your experiments are failures. Every human subject has died, hooked up to an incompatible machine that you stole but can't understand. That is your great work. And what's the point? You're standing on the shoulders of midgets. The Matrix couldn't save the Time Lords."

"Actually," said a voice behind him, "that's not entirely true."

Romana. Wild-eyed and sickly, clutching a circlet of scrap-metal in white-knuckled hands, though it was clear she could barely stand.

Neris gave a little choked gasp.

"I was in the Matrix at the moment Gallifrey was destroyed," said Romana. "In a way, I've never left. The dying screams of a hundred generations of Time Lords have echoed in my head ever since."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said, but she didn't seem to hear him.

"My TARDIS brought me here, knowing I'd be safe. And I was, at first, but then Ibbots came, with his experiments." She looked sadly at the Doctor. "It's my fault," she said. "He came to me years ago, with his ideas. And I thought — I thought his suggestion had merit. And he needed me, which was flattering, and he was truly brilliant."

"When did the deaths begin?" the Doctor asked her quietly.

"We moved too fast. The first human subject died. They all did."

"They might have lived," said Ibbots, "had you not baulked."

"Had you listened to me, perhaps," Romana snapped. "He's killing me, now. Slowly. Certainly I'm useful to his experiments, but one cannot help but feel it's a rather petty revenge."

"He's putting you in the proto-Matrix."

Romana nodded. "I feel their deaths. And their lives." Her voice was choked. "Isn't that what a goddess is meant to do?"

She held her device out to the Doctor: not scrap metal, but a cobbled-together sort of Crown of Rassilon.

The Doctor grinned, and despite his rage, his hearts leapt, just a little.

"You are wonderful," he said.

"Yes," she agreed, and for that moment, it felt like they were the only ones in the room, "but this is hardly the time to dwell on it." She turned to Ibbots. "I have a proposal for you," she said. "In honour of our former partnership."

He was hesitant, but his eyes were alight with curiosity as they dwelt on the device in her hands.

"First," he said, "tell your friends to stand down."

Romana caught the Doctor's eye and nodded imperceptibly.

"Neris," said the Doctor.

"You've got to be joking."

"You won't save your sister with a weapon," Romana snapped without looking away from Ibbots.

Slowly, Neris lowered her gun, flicked the safety on and holstered it.

"You're dismissed," Ibbots said to his assistants. "Wait outside the door."

"Doctor," said Romana, when the doors had closed, "disconnect the girl."

"Her name's Loryn," he said, moving to obey.

"Loryn," she repeated.

"She believes in you," said Ibbots. "Of all the petty tragedies of her life, that may be the worst. Against all logic, she has no doubt of your divinity."

The Doctor was using his sonic screwdriver to examine Loryn and the neuro-tech structure that held her in place. Neris, at his side, was clutching her sister's hands and murmuring nonsense words and reassurances. He didn't know if Loryn could hear her, but she was becoming quieter, growing still.

He placed his fingers on her temples, and was overwhelmed by an impression of memories

\--her mother was so beautiful, taller than her father, iridescent scales flashing with anger, she left them all, promising to come back for Loryn but she never did and their father could never forget her, any more than Neris could forgive, but in the cool stone rooms of the Temple school she found a kind of peace, and she kept her mother's image in the holoprojector she'd left behind--

Loryn shuddered in his arms

\--the soldiers shot Markus and left him for dead, and she fought them with every bit of her strength until they drugged her, and she was looking up into Ibbots's cold eyes and he was hooking her up to his machines, goddess help her, she was going to die here--

The Doctor cut the power to the unit, pushed the headpiece away and let her go. She opened her eyes slowly, her gaze flicking urgently from him to Neris, to Romana and Ibbots behind him.

Her hand curled around her sister's, and she said, her voice ragged and soft, "Don't look at me like that, you idiot. I'll be okay." She sat up, swaying, and the Doctor kept his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Oh," she said, and started to cry.

Neris wrapped her arms around her sister's shoulders and rocked her as she sobbed, and the Doctor turned back to Romana and Ibbots.

"Now," Romana said to Ibbots, her voice barely audible over Loryn's sobs, "come here."

She held the crown out to him, and he accepted it from her hands.

"A filter," he said, his face breaking into a smile. "What an extraordinary piece of engineering."

"It should keep your human subjects alive," she told him. "It's quite simple, really. You might have come up with it yourself, had you not been so set on making sacrifices." She took a step towards him and whispered, "put it on."

Ibbots laughed, but he didn't take his eyes off the crown. "And what guarantee do I have that it works as you say? How do I know it works at all?"

"I'm not in the business of committing murder," Romana said. "Knowledge, power, history, all of that. Right at your fingertips." She caressed the crown. "Now," there was steel in her voice, and she was not just the Doctor's old friend, but the President and War Leader of Gallifrey, destroyer of planets and arbiter of life and death, "stand still."

She took the crown from his hands and placed it on his head with all the tenderness of a lover, and as the Doctor moved to her side, he found himself hoping that she was being honest when she said she wouldn't kill him, because there was a dreadful darkness in her eyes.

She spread her fingers over Ibbots's head, cradling the crown and his skull between her hands. His eyes were wide, but with eagerness, not fear.

"I could have done this a lot faster if you'd asked me," Romana murmured, and the Doctor realised he was holding his breath. "Doctor," she added, looking at him, "the machine." He hesitated, and she grimaced. "Please, Doctor. I'm almost certain it will work."

"Not, actually, the most reassuring thing you could have said."

"Doctor!"

He flipped the switch.

Ibbots stiffened, then relaxed.

"There," said Romana, leaning forward to speak into his ear, "look upon your great work. All those years and lives, and now you can see the result at last."

"It's extraordinary," he said.

"It's obscene." Romana's voice became hard and cold. "Eighty-three people have died for this. Everyone has lost someone, but it never touched you or your work. You never had to hear their dying prayers, over and over in your mind." Her voice cracked. "You want knowledge, Ibbots? Have some of mine."

Her hands were clamped around his head; there was a smell of burning circuitry, and Romana was turning white. There were tears in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks.

Ibbots screamed.

There was a pounding at the door: the guards.

"Hold them off," Romana snarled.

The sonic screwdriver was already in his hand. The Doctor touched Loryn's shoulder.

"Is the guards' armour electrified?"

She blinked. "There — power-pack. Base of the spine. Circuits around the torso."

There was a distant hum as the guards began to circumvent the lock.

"Neris. Give me your gun."

She let go of it reluctantly, but it only took him a second to change the wave intensity of the energy beam. The door opened, the Doctor fired. Perfect shot. He never missed. The guard captain's armour sparked and overloaded, and he collapsed in a heap, stunned but alive. The Doctor grinned at the remaining pair of guards.

"Hello," he said, "I'm the Doctor." No response, just wild-eyed confusion while they tried to think through this new development. Altered brain-functions, the Doctor guessed, another one of Ibbots's experiments, and he had about five seconds left before they decided what to do, most likely shoot him, because that was the way it always seemed to work — "Never mind," he said, and triggered overloads in their armour. More sparks, more collapse. He knelt by the side of the leader.

"He'll be out for a few minutes," he said to Neris, but she wasn't watching, she was looking at Romana and Ibbots. The High Cardinal was slipping out of Romana's hands; he fell to the floor, eyes wide in a catatonic stare.

Romana took two steps back and turned to face the Doctor.

"There," she said, "it's over."

And she collapsed into his arms.

He caught her easily, conscious of her thready pulses and shallow breathing.

"No, no, no," he stepped back, "I am not going to lose you again. Neris!"

"What?"

"Key. In my left pocket. Opens my TARDIS."

The doors opened, he carried Romana inside and lay her down on the floor, kneeling by her side.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, and his fingers found the contact points at her temples, and he closed his eyes---

\---He was crouching on the floor of his TARDIS, looking up at her, resplendent in her presidential robes. He took a step back and whispered to K9, "That's the new assistant." And he wasn't surprised to hear a long-dead voice coming from his mouth, or to feel a mass of wool around his neck.

"I'm rather afraid you're too late," Romana said.

He rose to his feet, shedding the scarf and the old body. "I won't lose you."

"I'm already lost, and if you could be less melodramatic, I think I'd find it all a bit easier."

"But―"

Behind her, he saw her old incarnation, unspeakably sad and beautiful, and beyond that, a crowd, a mass of Time Lords. The Matrix.

"Here." She held out her hand, and he took it, and the memory overwhelmed him: the moment of destruction, rippling through the vortex and beyond, all those ancient minds crying out as they died.

Her hand tightened around his — he could feel their physical bodies touching — and she showed him more. Herself, hurled across the console room as her TARDIS threw itself blindly through the vortex, while Romana lay unconscious, still bound in the telepathic links with her ship.

"It kept you alive," the Doctor realised.

"After a fashion." Her hands were entwined with his, gripping him so tightly her knuckles were white. "It's dying, and I'm dying, and oh, Doctor, I'm so sorry."

He held her, the ghostly physical contact of the telepathically linked.

"I don't think I can regenerate," she said. "I tried once."

"Romana," he said, but words, for once, failed him. He was looking over her shoulder, at the assembled ghosts, her former self, and the dying console of her TARDIS. "Romana," he said, and let her go, moving forward to look more closely at the display on the cracked screen, "look at this."

"What are you looking at? It's blank. It's always been blank."

"To you, yeah, it'd be like trying to see the entire Milky Way galaxy from Earth, you're right in the middle, but here," he pointed to the display, "that is your brain, and those are injuries caused by your forced removal from the Matrix -- nasty stuff, I'm not surprised you've been weak -- and this is a recursive feedback loop between your brain and your TARDIS, and Romana, you don't have to die."

She looked up at him, hope dawning in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her forhead. And it was totally illusory, except he could sense the well of hope springing up inside her, and a fierce will to live that reflected his own desire to rescue her.

"Stay right there," he said, "I need to save your life."

*

On his feet, he raced to the console, swinging the viewscreen around. Reset the co-ordinates, yes, ignore planets and time and space, just lock onto another TARDIS's signal―

For a moment, the only sound was Romana's shallow breathing, then there was a click, and the TARDIS locked onto the signal. Faint and fading fast, but there it was.

He flicked a switch, threw the handbrake and dematerialised, and didn't breathe again until he'd arrived.

There. Right in the middle of Romana's console room, and he'd make sure she knew when it was all over, just so she could be impressed. But there was nothing to crow about here, merely a slow death. He put his glasses on.

"I'm sorry," he said.

He ripped open the panelling beneath the console. He didn't have time to descend into the lower depths, where the psionic circuitry interfaces were kept — he thought — but he could effect basic repairs up here, and when Romana had recovered, they could repair her TARDIS together, and they wouldn't be alone―

"Come on," he breathed, because there was no energy in the circuits. He stood up and leaned over to check the power levels.

"Damn."

Power: low, fading rapidly to nothing. And where was that slim thread of energy coming from? Pure Artron energy, too, which was―

Oh.

"So you're keeping her alive," he said, leaping down into the space beneath the console room, "and she's keeping you alive. Stop me if I'm wrong."

Silence, except for the off-key hum of Romana's TARDIS.

"But now the shared reserves have dropped too low, and you're both dying." The Doctor ran his hand over the cables that hung from a vast neo-organic stalactite. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't think you can both live."

He climbed back up into the console room. "And I think you know that," he continued, "that's why you're cycling all this energy through, like — like a great big wash cycle. Am I right? If you live, she lives. But it won't work this time."

He walked out into the centre of the console room, faded and cracked and dying.

"I'm sorry," he said, to the TARDIS and the Matrix ghosts and everyone else.

A light flickered out. Then another.

He clambered back down beneath the console room, and set about manually disconnecting the feedback loop between the TARDIS and Romana. Every cable that he cut, he felt like it was one of his own lives, set adrift.

The last of the lights went out as the feedback loop disintegrated, and he sat in the darkness, waiting for the end.

*

Romana opened her eyes.

"Doctor," she said.

"Right here." He was leaning over her, holding her hands.

"Good," she said, and lost consciousness again.

When she woke for the second time, she was in one of the TARDIS's bedrooms, still wearing her white robes. Like a student, she thought, and a memory flooded back: herself at eighty-two, walking out of the Capitol alone in the dark. She'd left her rooms without a conscious goal in mind, yet it was with satisfaction that she approached the Untempered Schism.

How long she stood there, in the cold wind, she couldn't have said. Her white robes becoming stained with dust as she stared into the Schism, and her dark hair whipped across her face unnoticed. There it was, the time vortex, multiple dimensions of mathematical perfection that, with time and study, she might one day begin to understand.

Footsteps approached behind her, and a heavy cloak was thrown over her shoulders. Braxiatel had to shake her to make her look at him, and he maintained an irate monologue all the way back into the city; for an alleged model student, he'd never known anyone quite as foolish as she; people went mad, staring into the Schism like that; what was she thinking, going out alone and unsupervised?

She let him go on like this until he ran out of words, and then — her hands now cupped around a warm glass and her dirty dress hidden beneath her tutor's cloak — she said, "I simply needed to see it again."

Braxiatel eyed her suspiciously. "I hope you're not entertaining irrational and obsessive impulses," he said. "It would be most inconvenient, and I expect I'll be held responsible."

"Impulsive," she admitted, "but not irrational. I just ... well, it is irrational," she snapped suddenly, "sending children out to look into it, like — like supplicants before some primitive god."

"So you decided to continue the cycle of irrationality?"

"Hardly. I looked into the vortex, and ... the vortex didn't look back."

"Oh?"

"No ancient whispers promised me power, no visions of the dead rose before my eyes―"

"You've been reading folktales again, I see."

"I felt no desire to run, no ... desperate need to alter the courses of history. I simply looked into the vortex."

"What did you see, Romana?" Braxiatel asked gently.

"It was like ... like feeling a song," she said. She couldn't put it into words, the sense that every cell in her body had been singing in tune with the vortex. She sipped her drink. "It's just mathematics," she said dismissively. As if that somehow rendered it insignificant — a contradiction, since everyone knew that Romanadvoratrelundar was dedicated to the pursuit of high mathematics, but Braxiatel didn't push the matter.

She was sent back to her room, given a gentle formal reprimand for leaving the Academy without permission, and her superiors saw to it that she was kept properly distracted until her temporary flirtation with irrationality passed.

Now, so many hundreds of years later, Romana lay back on her bed, and for a moment, she thought she could hear the song again.

She lay flat for a few minutes, and listened.

She bathed and changed before she found the Doctor. A black dress and matching boots, more appropriate to her age. She brushed her hair and hummed tunelessly. Her next regeneration, she promised herself, would be musical. But not yet, not when she had so many years left.

The Doctor was in the console room, waiting for her. His face lit up when she entered.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Well," he drew the word out, a trait she remembered from old, but it sounded different with this voice, "about a day, all up, but I took us out of time, just by a few fractions of a microsecond, though, I expect there's a lot going on downstairs, and you wouldn't want to miss it. So, we've been gone about three minutes, all up." He became serious. "I couldn't save your TARDIS. I'm sorry."

Romana slowly stepped out of the shadows and into the main chamber.

"I know," she said. "I know you tried, anyway, and ... well, I'm alive. I suppose that counts for something." She sat down and watched the Doctor tinker with the console. Did he take it for granted, she wondered, that his ship was alive and functioning? No, surely not, but she had to swallow a bitter shard of resentment. Not against him, or his TARDIS, just — she swallowed and tried to forget it. He caught her eye and turned, leaning back.

"The Time Lords are gone," he said without preamble. His voice was low and harsh. "Gallifrey, the people, they're all gone. The end of the Time War."

Romana tilted her head back and thought of the vortex's song. It was fading now, but she could almost capture the tune.

"But you," she said, "you survived." There was a crack in her voice, a note of hope. Pointless. She could feel the emptiness, now; the silence that was taking the place of the song. Silence, except for the two of them, and memories.

"I don't know how. Maybe it'd be different if I knew."

"The Daleks?" she asked.

"Dead. Most of them. Give or take."

"Some victory."

"It all burnt," he said slowly, "and there was nothing I could do to save it. I could only watch."

"Was there―" Again, her voice cracked. Her throat was closed tight. Swallow. "Was there anything I could have done? That I should have done differently?"

His compassion burnt her. "No," he said.

"I'm sorry." Romana reached out to take his hand. "How long have you been alone?"

"Long enough. I lost track of time, really. And, you know," he put his hands in his pockets, "I've been travelling with friends a bit." He sounded slightly defensive.

"But still." The silence, where once she took for granted the presence of the rest of their race, seemed to echo in her mind.

"Well," he said briskly, "shall we go down? See what chaos we've created?"

"In a moment," said Romana. "Let me see my TARDIS first."

She stood for a long time in the still, quiet room that had once been the heart of a living ship. So strange, to think it was finally gone, when they had clung to life together for so many years. A presidential TARDIS, such an affectation when the president was traditionally confined to Gallifrey. Now she was the president of a world that no longer existed, answerable to no one. Such a vast nothingness. That was the other consequence of staring into the Untempered Schism, she thought: a distressing tendency towards nihilism.

Slowly, she climbed down, deep into the heart of the great machine. There was still time: the coral-like innards were softening, but they were not yet dead. A piece broke off in her hand, and Romana fancied she could feel it pulse, like the heartsbeat of a god.

"You'll live again," she said to the empty, quiet ship. "It's what we Time Lords do."

"Quite right, too."

She spun on her heel, and found the Doctor leaning in the doorway of his TARDIS.

"How do you stand it," she asked. "Without going mad, I mean."

"Keeping busy. Always moving, that's a good one, never staying in the same place for too long. Never looking back."

"That sounds like you." She stepped into his TARDIS. "Let's go down," she said.

*

The lab was full of people: priests, lower cardinals, a few guards, all examining equipment and speaking to lab technicians and taking notes. It was noisy enough that the TARDIS's materialisation went almost unnoticed in the general confusion. Neris and Williem were tearing Ibbots's machine from the walls and arguing about history. Only Loryn was waiting expectantly when they stepped out of the TARDIS.

"Markus is dead," she said. "We just had word from the clinic."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said. Romana wondered why he was taking responsibility, except to protect her, but she had other concerns. People moved out of the way to let her pass — a cardinal approached her, then thought better of it — and she knelt before Ibbots.

"He was catatonic for a while," someone told her. "We're waiting for a proper medical team."

Romana took his hands.

"You'll be looked after," she told him. His gaze slowly focused on her. "And every day, you'll be aware of how little you deserve it. While you remember the lives and deaths of every person you killed."

"You," he whispered, "have a cruel taste in revenge."

"Sensible worshippers petition their deities for mercy rather than justice." She put her hands on his temples and listened for a moment to the turmoil of voices in his mind. "You have your sanity, and all your faculties. And your faith." She quieted the voices, just a little. "You have your whole life to make amends," she said, rising to her feet. She turned her back on him, and he called after her as she walked away, but she didn't stop.

Around her, plans were being made for the exhumation of the bodies in the desert. A strident voice — Neris, she thought — was calling for a funeral ceremony.

"For an atheist," the Doctor was saying to her as Romana returned to his side, "you put a lot of stock in symbolic ceremony." He sounded approving.

"I don't believe in the goddess," Neris answered, throwing a defiant look at Romana, "and I certainly don't worship her, but they deserve something."

"I wouldn't worship me, either," said Romana. "But you're right. They should be remembered with great honours." Take me away, she wanted to say to the Doctor, anywhere but Vide.

"Williem's going to show me the archives," said Neris. "The true ones, I mean, the uncensored history."

"Good." Loryn had been sitting silently on a surgical table, but now she spoke up. "Like Dad says, even heretical revolutionaries need proper jobs."

"And what'll you be doing?" the Doctor asked.

Loryn smirked at him. "Same as always. Selling scrap and waiting for the right customer to come along."

"You could always come with us," he suggested.

"Like hell," Neris snapped.

At the same time, Loryn laughed. "What, and get captured and tortured and maybe killed?"

"That," said the Doctor, dropping his voice, "and you could see the universe."

"No," said Loryn. "Thank you. But I'll see the universe on my own terms, or not at all. Anyway, Neris needs someone to look after her--"

"―Brat," said her sister.

"―And I have a whole lot of other people's memories in my head. Seems like that's important. To their families, if nothing else."

The Doctor gave her an approving nod, and Romana reached for his arm.

"We should go," she whispered in his ear.

"Can't stand hanging around," he agreed, and she permitted him to lead her into his TARDIS. She turned to Williem.

"Thank you," she said, and found herself incapable of speech.

"I'll be here," he said, "if you ever need me."

A lie, she knew; he was an old man, but he had devoted most of his life to her service, and now he would devote the rest of it to healing Vide. She blinked, and herself crying. She let the tears come, for herself, for Vide, for Gallifrey... She closed the doors behind Williem and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Take me away," she told the Doctor.

"Any preferences?" he asked, throwing a switch.

"Surprise me."

"Living dangerously." His smile almost reached his eyes. They were getting better at this. The engines began to throb.

"Just living," she said, and they dematerialised, and for a moment, all of time and space was open to them, and it was terrible, and it was magnificent, and she could almost hear the vortex singing.

 

end


End file.
